


Happy Lies, Harder Truths

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Christine did not intend to do while at the Academy: fall for her boss and wind up with his best friend. Or have any of the other various complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Lies, Harder Truths

**Author's Note:**

> loveflyfree on LJ wanted: "Kirk/Chapel variety with Chapel mostly bemused by the ridiculousness that is Jim. and Jim going out of his way to try and impress her or something. and McCoy is just grumpy about the whole thing not realizing that they're both stupid ass over teakettle for him." This happened.

The first time she meets Jim Kirk, his face is swollen beyond belief and his skin is covered in hives, and he's tugging on Dr. McCoy's clinic uniform like a child desperate for a parent's attention. When she walks in, intending just to let McCoy know she's reported for duty, she sees McCoy shaking Jim impatiently off and scribbling notes on his PADD. "Doctor? Anything I can help with?"

"Not unless you're willing to kill him," McCoy mutters. "I got it, Chapel, thank you. Hernandez off?"

"You're stuck with me, I'm afraid." She risks a longer glance than she should, a quick slip in the careful control she maintains of the attraction she feels after weeks of knowing him. "Is he..."

"He's a walking allergy. He'll be fine. Jim, lay off, I'm trying to work here."

The patient -- Jim, she files away in her mind -- lolls his head over and peers at her through squinty, puffy eyes. "Hey there," he slurs. "You're pretty."

McCoy groans. Christine smothers a laugh. "Escape while you can," McCoy invites in a resigned tone. "You think this is bad, wait 'til he's back to normal. You don't strike me as the type to want much to do with Jim Kirk at full strength."

Christine snorts. " _This_ is Jim Kirk?"

"So you've heard of him."

"Hasn't everyone?" She tips her head to the side so she can match the angle of Jim's. "It's strange. The stories usually make him sound..."

"More charming?"

"Less pathetic, definitely." McCoy looks at her with laughter behind his eyes and she grins, straightens up. "I'll be up front if you need anything, Doctor."

As she slips out the door, she hears a plaintive whine. "Bones. Why you gotta cockblock me like that?"

She laughs all the way back to the main desk.

She doesn't think much of it. For one thing, it's Jim Kirk. As her roommate, who is far better integrated into the Academy social scene, puts it, Jim Kirk is the kind of guy you don't turn down if you get a chance with him, but you'd be a fool to expect it to be more than a chance at a truly excellent lay.

Really _not_ the kind of crap she needs in her life. Besides, it's not like a few doped up comments constitute a _chance_ , even if she did want one. What she finds more interesting is McCoy's gruff, "Sorry about that. He's got to be the biggest handful of a friend I've ever had." She never would have guessed it, people like them being friends, especially since she'd never once seen Jim set foot in the clinic until he had a legitimate reason to be there.

But then he keeps showing up.

The first time he comes in, two days after the allergic reaction incident, she returns from trailing McCoy on hourly rounds and recording his updated orders on each patient's file, to find Jim in the waiting room. He's slouched in a chair, one foot jiggling impatiently, whistling up to the ceiling. "Jim?" she asks, concerned. "You okay? You aren't having another reaction, are you?"

Jim hops smoothly to his feet and approaches the desk. "Nope, I'm good. We didn't have a chance to properly meet the other day. I'm Jim Kirk."

"I caught that, thanks. I'm Nurse Chapel." He peers at her expectantly. "Christine Chapel," she amends with a small sigh.

His smile is dazzling in a practiced way. "Okay, okay. Good. So, Christine -- you don't mind if I call you Christine, do you? I'm not a patient anymore, after all."

"Be that as it may," she replies. She's never had patience for guys like him, for games like this. "I think I'd prefer Nurse Chapel, please."

"Huh." His expression goes thoughtful, more genuine, with a shade of something lecherous to it. "Sure, all right. Listen, sorry I was so out of it the other day. I'm not usually like that."

Christine scrutinizes him. "That's a shame," she finally says, mild but firm. "You were actually sort of cute then."

To his credit, he catches the meaning in her voice. "Bones here? I came to talk to him." There's a slightly petulant tone to his abrupt shift in focus. Christine would consider feeling bad for hurting his feelings, if she didn't feel like she were getting an any-pretty-girl routine.

"If you mean Dr. McCoy, he's busy with patients. You're welcome to continue waiting." She flicks a glance back to the chairs in the waiting room.

He stays right where he is. "Bones never told me you were so pretty."

Christine fixes her gaze quickly on the PADD in front of her. His comment hurts though she knows he couldn't have meant it to; she just really didn't need the reminder that she's got a hopeless crush on a man who barely looks at her unless there's work to be done. "I can't imagine why he would have mentioned me at all," she says with forced calm.

Jim shrugs. "He was just telling me about this year's crop of new nurses. You know the man, it's bitching half the time, moaning the other."

She blinks rapidly, doesn't look at him, tries not to linger on the implication that McCoy was complaining about her. "I guess I don't know him as well." She jabs a finger at the intercom to the back. "Doctor McCoy, someone to see you when you have a moment."

Jim leaves her alone after that, and a minute later when McCoy emerges into the waiting room he launches into a discussion of weekend plans without another look at her. She ignores them pointedly and goes about her work, hoping it doesn't look as obvious as it feels that her shoulders are tense and her face is flushed with warmth. The one time she risks a glance at them, she sees McCoy looking back and forth between her and Jim, frowning, his eyes narrowed.

Great, she thinks. All her wishing that she could get him to notice her for the right reasons, and he finally goes and does it because it looks like she's been flirting on duty.

Yeah. Jim Kirk is a complication she could definitely do without.

~*~*~*~*~

Jim shows up again on Friday afternoon and comes straight to the desk. "There's a party tonight," he announces.

"There's a party most Friday nights."

"Chr-- Nurse Chapel." He favors her with a small smile. "So. Are you going?"

She is, in fact. She promised her roommate. "Maybe."

"Great!" He pushes away from the counter and starts backpedaling. "I look forward to _maybe_ seeing you there."

Christine blinks at him. "Did you want me to see if Doctor McCoy is busy?"

"Eh. Tell him I dropped by." Jim winks at her. "Later, Nurse Chapel."

She sees him there, but he doesn't see her. Granted, she's there for less than an hour before her roommate starts throwing up all of the alcohol she'd so quickly thrown _back_ , and it's when she's dragging Maria out the door to take her home that she sees Jim in the next room, regaling several people with some animated tale. McCoy is next to him, slouched against a doorframe, laughing and rolling his eyes at the same time. He looks over just as she catches sight of him, and slips through the crowd to meet her. "Need any help?"

Christine readjusts Maria's arm over her shoulder. "Thanks, but no. I'm used to this. It's the only reason I come to these things."

McCoy glances back in the direction he came from. "I know the feeling," he says dryly. "All right then. See you?"

"Sure. Tell Jim it'll have to be a raincheck on that 'maybe', would you? He'll understand."

"Yeah." He scowls as he agrees. "I'll tell him."

His attitude, she realizes as she mulls it over later, trying to get to sleep, annoys her. He can't possibly disapprove of _Jim_ , is the thing; it didn't take her more than a few minutes of watching them interact to notice that sniping aside, there's clear trust and respect between them. The only option left, as she sees it, is that the problem is with her. She's either not good enough for his friend -- and to hell with him anyway, if that's what he thinks -- or he believes it inappropriate for her to be ...friendly with someone she met as a patient.

To hell with that, too, she thinks. Every cadet is a patient sooner or later, and she damn well knows where to draw professional lines.

Not that there's any line _to_ draw, when it comes to Jim Kirk. He's not her type, they have nothing in common, and she finds him more than a little ridiculous.

Even if he is sort of handsome. Which he's not. Not at all. And certainly not like McCoy is.

By the time she falls asleep, Christine is pretty sure she regrets ever meeting Leonard McCoy and his stupid, stupid best friend.

~*~*~*~*~

Midterms are the next week. Christine volunteers to pull nights in the clinic throughout, for long hours alone without patients or doctors distracting her, minimal duties that she can get out of the way quickly, and only the slight possibility that anyone will show up needing her to either wake up a doctor or call for emergency transport to the hospital.

She figures it will give her a huge amount of time to study. It goes fairly well the first couple of nights, but on the third she comes in to find that all patients have been discharged except for one -- Jim. "Dislocated his shoulder in a combat match," Dr. Gustaf tells her before he leaves. "Keep him here for another hour or so, watch for any adverse reaction to the painkiller I gave him. Then he can go. I already signed the conditional discharge."

When she pokes her head into the exam room Jim is logged into, he's dozing peacefully on the bed. She checks the bio-monitors and leaves him be, and keeps an eye on his vitals from the front desk as she studies.

Just after midnight, they go haywire. She's getting to her feet when he stumbles out, rubbing his eyes, and she has to hold back a laugh. "Hi," he mumbles. "So this is where you've been hiding? Graveyard shift? Bones wouldn't tell me."

"You were asking after me?" She's not sure how that makes her feel, flattered or exasperated. A combination of both, maybe.

"Sure, why not." He yawns and rolls his shoulder carefully and wanders back behind the desk without invitation, drops into a chair. "Ow. I hate when this happens."

"The soreness should ease up by tomorrow," she offers, a little confused by what he's doing. He doesn't answer, just spins circles in his chair despite a creak in the springs. "Uh, you're actually officially discharged," she finally points out, sick of trying to read through the distraction. "That means you can _leave_. And you shouldn't be back here, besides."

Jim drops his head back and stares at the ceiling as he spins. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Don't you have studying to do? Like _I_ do?"

"You and me, Christine," he says instead of answering. "We should go out."

She lets his use of her name pass unremarked. "That's not going to happen."

"It should, though. You like me."

Christine sits back in her own chair and sighs. "I don't, actually."

"That's only because you haven't ever given me the time of day."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

He lifts his head and stares at her, eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Because you're-- because we -- we would have zero chemistry, Jim. _Zero_."

"That is so completely unfair," he pouts. "There's no way you could know that. And chemistry is not something to take your chances on, Christine. Bad move all around."

"But my bad move to make."

"It affects me, too." He grins, still looking a little sleepy. "Clearly we have to solve this or I'll drive us both crazy."

She sighs. "What do you suggest? I'm not going out with you, so don't even say it."

"I'm going to kiss you," he says casually. "Give me just a sec, though. I want to be totally awake for it."

She should tell him no. She should tell him to get out or she'll call security.

Instead she stares down at her reading and when he gets up a few minutes later, and pulls her chair back and leans over her, she lets him brush his mouth to hers. She lets him pull her to her feet and, though she mumbles, "I still don't like you," she lets him push her up against the desk and wrap his arms around her and kiss her more thoroughly than she's been kissed anywhere outside her daydreams, lately.

And if he's not the man she's been daydreaming about?

Oh well. In the not-so-distant past, Christine would have said that she would never be so silly as to become infatuated with a professional superior, or to make out --on duty, no less-- with a guy she hardly knows.

Things change.

These particular changes cause her more than a small amount of concern the next day, when she faces her own reflection and the smattering of dark marks on her neck in her bathroom mirror. But at the time? With Jim's tongue in her mouth and his hand sliding up her skirt?

She can only recall thinking that the rumors about Jim Kirk were definitely, _emphatically_ true, and that she'd been wrong.

Plenty of chemistry to go around.

~*~*~*~*~

He shows up again the next night and rings the buzzer on the front door at one in the morning. She's made her decision. Still, she hesitates before releasing the lock. She watches nervously as he shuffles up to the desk, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He doesn't say anything. He just gazes at her with a small smile tugging at his lips and a bleary, caffeinated look in his eyes.

Christine sighs and connects the buzzer to the clinic-wide intercom. "Not here," she says shortly.

Jim follows her back into the main clinic. The second she steps into one of the exam rooms he grabs her by the hips, tugs her back against him, puts his lips to her ear. "So are we doing this?" he whispers. "I really want to do this."

Christine twists in his arms, kisses him hard. "Okay. Yes. We're doing this."

Jim grins. "See, you do like me."

"I like sex," she retorts. "And I hear you're good at it. But we have to be fast, someone could show up any time."

He just laughs and crowds her back against the exam bed. His hands are steady and deft, tugging her skirt over her hips, peeling her underwear down, lifting her up onto the table. He hooks the stool with one foot to drag it into place and sinks onto it, gives her his clever, enthusiastic mouth. Christine clutches the edges of the table and arches up against his tongue and tries hard to keep quiet as he coaxes an orgasm from her.

She's not entirely successful, nor is _she_ particularly fast about it. Dedication, an old boyfriend once told her. She requires a certain degree of dedication. He'd made it sound like a complaint; she didn't date him much longer. Jim, for his part, doesn't say a damn word, just looks incredibly smug when he stands and unfastens his pants and pushes her further back. He crawls on top of her and catches her mouth, makes her taste herself all over him, and he groans long and loud as he sinks slowly into her. "Are you gonna think of this every time you're in here with a patient?" he pants when he's settled deep. "That'd be so hot, you checking some clueless bastard's pulse and thinking about me, about this-- would that get you wet, you think? Right in the middle of doing your--"

Christine clamps her palms over his jaw and kisses him just to shut him up. She lifts her knees around him, hooks her ankles behind his back. The bed is so narrow that everything is awkward and clumsy; Jim has trouble finding a good way to brace himself for the leverage he needs. He tries anyway, his lips roaming over her face and neck as he rocks into her. "More," she moans. It's not enough, the slow glide, but he resists the plea in her voice and her clutching hands and just gives her steady strokes and quick, biting kisses. "More, you have to --"

"I don't have to anything," he teases with a laugh. He pulls out and pushes up onto his knees. "This isn't working. Over."

Christine scrambles onto her hands and knees, and when Jim pushes back in with a swift, firm thrust, she drops onto her forearms and bows her head, gasps. "Oh _man_ , Christine," Jim groans. He wrenches the zipper of her uniform down her back, plunges his hands into the loose material to touch skin, her stomach, her breasts. "Oh my god, I so knew it. I knew you'd feel this good."

He falls quiet then, lost in pursuit of his goal. She's glad for his near silence, grateful. It allows her to squeeze her eyes shut and imagine things are different, that it's the middle of the day and there are patients waiting and it's McCoy squeezing her hips hard enough to bruise, it's McCoy pulling her back on his cock, it's McCoy making low, contented noises as he bends low over her back and bites her shoulder and rubs her clit until she crams her face into the crook of her elbow and muffles a scream that might sound like the wrong name, were she to let it loose.

She doesn't move, even when he's done, and still except for his hands lazily tracing the curves of her body, his lips tripping down her spine. "You're amazing," he mumbles after several quiet minutes. "Totally... amazingly...amazing."

Amazing, Christine thinks tiredly. Something was definitely amazing about what just happened, just...hell if she knows exactly what. She lets her knees slip back so she can flatten out under him, relax under his weight. "You're heavy."

Jim nuzzles her neck through her hair before hefting himself up and off her. "Sorry." She hears rustling, then feels his hands, pulling her up and moving her around until she's perched on the edge of the bed. "Gimme a few minutes," he says, smiling as he ducks in to press fast kisses to her neck, "we can go again."

Christine groans. She slips her hands under his shirt and rubs up and down his back. "You're so impossible," she murmurs, pushing everything but him to the back of her mind.

"Yeah, so I hear. I don't get it." He hitches her against him as she laughs. "It's all part of my clever plan, actually," he continues breezily. "You're already figuring out it's pointless to resist me."

"That a challenge, Kirk?"

"Ruh-roh. You caught me." He starts laughing himself as he catches her lips, but then his tongue slips between and her breath catches, and his fingers begin to work her uniform off. "Sure, whatever. I _love_ a good challenge."

Christine just sinks her fingers into his hair and sighs into his mouth. She wants to tell him that it _is_ pointless, that he's like a puppy chasing his tail, running in circles to catch something that won't do him one bit of good.

She keeps it to herself. He's enjoying himself, at least, and she finds it feels good to be chased, to be wanted, to let herself be caught.

And... she might be starting to like him, just a little, after all.

~*~*~*~*~

The shame that was easy enough to set aside in the middle of the night reasserts itself in the cold light of day. So does every other useless feeling she's had lately. She can't decide whether to laugh or cry, when McCoy is the first person to show up for the morning shift.

She yawns instead. Hugely, unattractively. Loudly. "Good morning to you, too," McCoy says. He looks amused. She feels horrified. "You don't have any exams today, do you?"

"In an hour." She yawns again. "Damn it."

His expression shifts from amusement to concern. "Good god, Chapel, you're a wreck. Do you want a mild stim?"

"No, I hate those--" She feels another yawn coming on and sighs. "Screw it. Yes. Thank you. Just keep me going until noon and I can crash."

Shaking his head, he beckons her to follow him back into the clinic. "You're crazy, you know that, pulling these shifts."

Christine keeps her gaze on the floor as they pass the exam room she and Jim had used. "It's not so bad. Quiet, usually."

"Something happen last night?"

"What? No... nothing." She flushes and watches him load a hypospray from the dispensary shelf. His movements are confident, self-assured, well practiced. "I just haven't managed my schedule like I should have."

"Hmph." He takes her arm and pushes her sleeve up to dose her. His hand is warm on her skin, gentle. She bites her lip hard. "Promise you'll get plenty of sleep later, hm? Can't have a zombie coming back to us next week."

He keeps hold of her arm even after the hypospray falls away. Christine finally pulls it back and readjusts her sleeve. Like you'd notice either way, she wants to say. But she just nods. "I will. I'll come back normal, I promise."

"Good to hear." He mirrors her nod and turns away to replace the supplies he removed. "I'd miss you."

Everything in her goes still and quiet, just for a moment, before she recovers her senses. "I-- I should get going," she says unsteadily. "Thanks again, for the-- the stim."

"Yeah, well." He turns back to her with that irritable frown he has far too often. "One time deal. _Sleep_ , Chapel. There's no substitute."

Right, she thinks. Other things there's no substitute for: spending the night quietly studying instead of letting Jim Kirk have his way with her -- twice. "I have to go," she blurts.

"You said that already." And he's back to looking amused. He follows her up front and leans against the counter as she gathers her things. "Any idea who's on today?"

"Hernandez. She should be here soon. I... I could wait."

"No, go ahead. I'll be fine."

Christine smiles cautiously at him. "You're sure? You doctors are pretty helpless, after all."

"True enough." He grins. She can hardly breathe, all of a sudden, a squeeze in her chest making her feel young, stupid. "Still, I think I can keep the place from burning down for five minutes."

"I'm holding you to that, McCoy."

She slings her bag over her shoulder just as the door slides open and Jim saunters in, looking obscenely well-rested. He joins McCoy at the counter and Christine wants, badly, to crawl under it and hide. Or die. Or something. "Morning, Bones," Jim says cheerfully. He looks her right in the eye, winks. "Christine."

"Jim," she manages. Her voice cracks.

He smirks. "Ready to admit you want to go out with me yet?"

Christine sneaks a glance at McCoy; he's staring at Jim, his face pinched with annoyance. She is suddenly very, very sure that he knows somehow, knows what they did. "Never," she says firmly, and starts for the door. "Excuse me, guys, I-- I have my test."

"Aw, c'mon! What's a guy gotta do?" Jim calls lightly. She hurries out without answering.

~*~*~*~*~

Christine, always a woman of her word, sticks to her guns.

Sort of. She steadfastly refuses to go out with Jim. Staying _in_ with him, however, turns out to be something else entirely.

She discovers, when she checks her messages after her exam, that Jim has sent her one. It's nothing more than a dorm name and room number, followed by a simple "anytime, beautiful." She rolls her eyes and ignores it and manages to make it home and onto her bed before she passes out fully clothed. But over the weekend she can't get it out of her mind. He's an itch, is what he is, and she scratched instead of ignoring.

Now he won't go away. On Monday she goes to work and McCoy, chatting amiably with another nurse, takes one look at her and goes hard, cold. She spends the entire shift putting up with him in the foulest mood she's ever seen and after, without really thinking it through, she goes straight from the clinic to Jim's dorm.

She passes more than an hour on a bench outside, studying, before he saunters up. "Anytime?" she says when he stops in front of her and blocks the afternoon sun.

He scratches the back of his neck, looks at her like she's an idiot. "Well... _yeah_. Come on already, we're burning daylight here."

She hadn't, she thinks in the middle of the night, when he finally falls asleep wrapped around her, intended for this to happen again. Jim was supposed to be one of those things that just sort of happen, one of those one night stands you remember later in life when you're telling stories with girlfriends over drinks, or reminiscing the oats you sowed before you settled down.

Jim Kirk is the kind of guy who's supposed to be a singular occurrence.

But -- but he's also really a perfectly nice kind of guy, is the thing, funny and sweet and, when he chills out, appealing to her in ways that go beyond physical attraction. She's exhausted, from sex and laughing both, and she has the stray thought as she drifts off that maybe, just maybe, she should give him an honest chance.

Or... maybe not.

The _real_ problem, as she sees it, is that she can't shake the feeling that she's a _prize_ to be won, and that like a child tiring of a fancy new toy, Jim will wind up discarding her at the bottom of his metaphorical closet or something. She's heard the stories, is all, startling more in the quantity than in the content, and she's an open-minded girl and it's not like she's walking in blind, or anything. She doesn't mind being another in a long line of casual flings.

She does mind wanting something else and finding herself disappointed.

Been there, done that -- or, okay, if she's being honest with herself, _doing_ that still, despite the cracks spreading through the fragile foundations of a friendship she thought she'd been building with McCoy. It's bad enough, struggling to ignore the annoyance he exudes every time Jim stops by the clinic and flirts with her all through her break --she doesn't know _how_ he always manages to get hold of her schedule and time his visits so perfectly, but he does.

She doesn't really feel the need to invite more reasons to torture herself into her life.

So she doesn't. It works. It's simple and comfortable to chat and laugh and tease when she runs into Jim, or when he tracks her down. It's uncomplicated to stop by his room every now and then without any expectation that he even be there, or if he is that she stay any longer than she wants, that she be something more than she's willing to be, capable of being.

It's not that hard, after weeks of it all, to convince herself she's perfectly content.

And, she figures, so what if it's all a bunch of happy lies?

The happy lies are, at least, the easiest to live with.

~*~*~*~*~

Near the end of the semester, Jim comes into the clinic with a towel pressed over his left eye, blood leaking down his face regardless. Christine, tied up with two discharges being sent out at once, lets Hernandez handle it, and just shakes her head in exasperation as Jim paces around the waiting room and tries to demonstrate some combat move or another to his beleaguered instructor without removing the cloth from his face. When Hernandez calls him back into the clinic, he grins on his way past her. "Hot, am I right?"

Christine just snorts and rolls her eyes. When she's done with her discharges she goes back to check supplies in all the exam rooms, and pops her head into Jim's. "How bad's the damage?"

"Split eyebrow is all," McCoy tells her absently. It's the way he tells her everything, these days. "He caught a stray elbow in just the right way."

"Smooth move, slick," she teases. "We're empty except for him, Doctor McCoy. I'll be restocking."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Jim calls before she can duck away. "I'm almost done-- right, Bones, almost done? -- you wanna get lunch?"

Christine pauses, glances back. Jim is somehow managing to twist a bright smile in her direction even as McCoy grips his chin and holds him still while running a dermal regenerator over his eye. McCoy's own attention is firmly fixed on Jim's face. "Jim--"

"What? It's not a date. It's...it's two cadets eating food at the same time, at the same table, in a room full of other cadets. Least date-like thing ever. Bones and I do it all the time!"

McCoy abruptly releases Jim and turns away, keeps his back to them as he writes notes in Jim's chart. Jim hops off the table and grins at Christine. He still has blood smeared up and down the side of his face. "Come on," he urges. "Just think, you can finally find out whether I have any table manners at all."

"Smart money's on none," she retorts. She dodges as he reaches for her, shoots him a warning look. "I can't, anyway. I'm not off for another half hour and I have things to finish."

"Go ahead, Chapel," McCoy says. His voice sounds strange, tight. "Joy and I can take care of it."

Christine frowns. So Nurse Hernandez is 'Joy' now, she thinks. That's just...great. "Fine," she says, more sharply than she intended. "Jim, I'll be up front when you're done. Wash your face, would you? You look like a hooligan."

"Ahh, you love it," he says, and gingerly pokes his mended brow. "Hey, Bones, you're awesome, it doesn't even hurt."

"Praise be, my purpose in life is now fulfilled. Might as well retire."

Jim whirls around. "Take that back, man, I need you like, forever."

McCoy pauses, his back still turned. He clears his throat. "Thanks for the ringing endorsement, kid. Now scram, would you? You're done here."

Christine stares at him, some suspicion tugging at the back of her mind that she can't quite pin down, until Jim hooks his arm in hers and pulls her out into the hall. "So. I'll go clean up, and you get your stuff, and I am going to show you how to make the mess hall a gourmet experience."

She manages a laugh and shoves him off. "You're going to achieve the impossible, are you."

"That's what I do," he boasts. "This is nothing, in fact -- if you'd go out with me already, I'd show you some _really_ amazing feats of genius. Seriously, Chris, you've never done Alcatraz until you've done it with me." Christine casts a skeptical glance at him and he grins. "Go on, doubt me. Shame you'll never know for sure."

Pushing him in the direction of the bathroom, she laughs again and shakes her head. "My loss, I guess."

"Not just yours!" he calls after her.

Jim's idea of gourmet cuisine, it turns out, involves little more than dodging around the various hot lines in the mess hall to put together a plate he calls "the perfect blend of all the best comfort foods" and she calls "scrambled eggs and fried chicken, are you _kidding_ me with this, Jim?"

He does, at least, use his napkin and utensils at appropriate times, so she has to give him that. Still, as he mops up dregs of ketchup and soy sauce with a last bit of bread, she points her fork at him. "You're disgusting."

"mm," he...agrees, or something, his mouth full. He swallows and grins. "You wanna come to my room though, don't you?"

"Yes," she says easily. "You're lucky I have an iron stomach."

"I'm lucky for a lot of reasons." With a wink, he tosses his napkin on the table. "And still hungry. I want to eat you next -- ready?"

Christine groans and shakes her head, but stands up. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment, after what I just witnessed."

"I'm a man of many and varied tastes, Chris."

Walking to his dorm, her hand loosely linked with his and his voice chattering happily in her ear, Christine tries to live in the moment, to keep hold of her good mood. But as they pass the clinic her thoughts drift to McCoy, how he's been recently, how his voice sounded when he waved off Jim's flip declaration of need and devotion. What she'd once hoped to have with him, and what she -- has? could have? with Jim.

The second they're inside his room, she turns on her heel and kisses Jim hard. "Thanks for lunch," she says softly.

Jim wraps his arms around her and hauls her deeper into the room to fall on the bed with him. She laughs and squirms, but lets him roll her under him and prop himself up on his elbows. "Thanks for going. Why won't you go out with me for real?" he asks curiously, and kisses her chin. "You still think I'm that bad?"

Christine bites her lip and looks him in the eye. "No. I think you're that great."

"That," he says, and pauses for a fast but deep kiss, "makes no sense at all."

"Jim," she mumbles, even as she sinks her fingers into his hair and responds, "it's -- I have a thing."

"What kind of thing?"

If nothing else, she thinks, he deserves for her to give him the truth. "A thing...for Doctor McCoy."

The way Jim stops and gazes at her, so open and unfazed, is more than she can take. She turns her face away, sighs when he presses his forehead to her temple. "Like you're the only one?" he says warmly.

Christine tenses, the flare of annoyance taking her by surprise. She'd thought she had better control of this thing, thought she had more sense than to let jealousy add to the messy mix of physical attraction. She has no claim, she knows. She has nothing.

And yet. "What? Who? Is it Hernandez?"

Jim's amused exhalation wafts across her jaw. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she snaps. She shoves him off and sits up, hugs her knees defensively. "Tell me. I want to know."

"Huh." He sits up and scratches his head and peers at her. "Guess I hide it better than I thought."

Christine's lips part in shock. "You... _you_?"

"Uh, yeah. Who the hell is Hernandez, anyway?" He leans forward, angling for a kiss, and she dodges. "Christine. This isn't a big deal."

"How is it not a -- no. I don't believe you, Jim!" She rubs a hand through her hair, too many reactions spinning through her mind to figure out how she actually feels. It's easiest, as it usually is with Jim, to divert into exasperation. "Since when do _you_ not go out of your way to make it obvious you like someone?"

"Since someone managed to matter to me more than getting my rocks off does?" She gapes at him, startled, and he shrugs before noticing her expression. "Oh. Not that you don't! You didn't, I mean, so I -- but you do, now. You totally do."

"Your foot is getting dangerously close to your mouth," Christine says mildly, the amusement he tends to provoke acting as a balm. She takes a deep breath and pats his arm. "Relax, I get it. You're not used to it, are you?"

"Used to what?"

"Caring that much." Jim looks away and she sighs. "Wow. We - we're quite the pair." When he laughs a little, she scoots closer and wraps her arms around him, rests her chin on his shoulder. "Okay, give it one last shot."

"Huh?"

"you know. Ask me out."

Jim shifts slowly, presses her down on her back. He licks his lips slowly and stares at her. "Are you gonna say no?"

Wiggling around, she gets comfortable beneath him and lifts her knees around his hips, grins as he grinds down against her. "Try it and find out."

"Christine." He kisses the tip of her nose and smiles broadly. "Go out with me, pretty please?"

She smiles and touches her lips to his. "Okay. But only because I like you. And this is still...casual, got it?"

"Victory at last," Jim mumbles triumphantly, and proceeds, in a dozen deft ways, to distract her from the familiar urge to smack him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christine drifts off at some point, wakes up under a blanket with Jim tucked close against her back. The afternoon sun has dipped low, turning the room a shady orange. "Jim?" she whispers.

"Yeah."

She wonders how long he's been awake, how long he's just lain there holding her, not sleeping, not moving. "You're warm," she murmurs, and lets her eyes slip shut again. "Feels nice."

Jim wiggles the toes of one foot, brushing them against her calf. "Good. Are you really gonna go on a date with me?"

"I said so, didn't I?" His lips touch the back of her neck, send a shiver down her spine. "Do you really have a hang-up over him?"

"I said so, didn't I?" he replies, his tone teasing. He adds lazily, "I kissed him once. We barely knew each other, still. I was drunk."

Christine lets that sink in before twisting around to lie on her other side. She toys with the shell of his ear with her fingertips and gazes at him thoughtfully. It feels unexpectedly reassuring, to be able to share this with someone, the truth and the futility and, apparently, a war story or two. "What happened?"

"He thumped me, called me an over-sexed, under-socialized headcase, and dragged my ass home." Jim slings his leg over hers, grins. "Totally let me pretend I didn't remember the next day, too."

"Was it --" She pauses, blushes as she stares at his chin. "What was it like?"

With a laugh, Jim nudges in closer and kisses her softly. His cocks stirs between them. "That, I really * _don't_ remember. It was pretty fuzzy by morning. Warm and wet, I'm betting. That _mouth_..."

Laughing, Christine pushes him onto his back and drapes herself half across him, kisses him with lazy affection. "I need to go get some studying done," she says regretfully. "Can I trust you to plan a good date for us?"

"Are you kidding? I've had this planned for _weeks_. I knew you'd say yes eventually."

"You did not!" She smacks his chest lightly and gets up, starts looking for all her clothes. Jim sits up and watches her, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes are hooded and drowsy but bright, sharp.

"Well, I hoped. I got it all figured out, Chris, don't worry about a thing. Saturday?"

"Working a double. Tomorrow?"

"Can't -- block party over at the student houses. I promised some friends I'd help host."

"Party, party, party," she grumbles, pulling her uniform up over her hips before searching for the sleeves. "Okay. Monday would work -- that okay?"

"Monday, okay. Dress casual." Jim's smile suddenly widens. "You coming to the party? You should!"

"No." Dressed, she kneels on the mattress next to Jim and leans to gives him one last, lingering kiss. "More than no: _hell_ no. I'm going to study. I'll see you later?"

He grabs her wrists before she can get up again. "C'mon," he urges in a low voice. "Say you'll come." She shakes her head, but laughs as he tugs her and makes her lose her balance and sprawl across his lap. "If I don't see you tomorrow, I can't be held responsible for whatever injury I might suffer on Saturday for an excuse to come see you."

Wiggling upright, Christine hugs him tightly. His hands come up to cradle her shoulder blades, rub warmly through her uniform. "You could just come in uninjured," she invites. "I'd be okay with that."

"You'd be okay with that?" he murmurs, and mouths her neck. "If I just came and...talked to you?"

"Yeah," Christine breathes. "I'd be okay with that."

  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the end, she goes to the party. Against her will, she tells herself repeatedly as she makes her way through the crowded halls of one of the campus houses, in search of one of the dozen or so open minibars set up to get people drunk and keep them that way.

She's also, maybe, just a little, looking for Jim. If pressed, she might admit to having asked a few people if they'd seen him, and followed their vague impressions to her current location. She doesn't hold out much hope of finding him, though; it seems like a good half the enrolled cadets have swarmed on the housing block, and --

And there he is, just ducking out of the kitchen with four full cups pinched together in his hands. At the sight of her, he grins hugely. "Chris! Couldn't stay away, huh? Just _had_ to see me, didn't you?"

She rolls her eyes and brushes past him to get to the alcohol. "My roommate talked me into coming."

"Right, right, sure. Whatever you say." His eyes have the glazed narrowness of being well out of reach of sobriety, and his smile is lazy even in its breadth. He tears his attention from her just long enough to flag down a girl with bright red hair separated out into dozens of small ponytails. "Susan! You know Carter, from our seminar? He's on the porch, take these to him and his buddies, would you?"

The girl gives Jim a look that tells Christine volumes. "No problem. You coming out, too?"

"You gonna be there?" he shoots back, with a flirtatious wink. Christine grabs a cup from the counter and reaches for the first bottle she sees, winds up with tequila. "In a few, maybe?"

Christine glances back just in time to see Jim's head tips back as he tracks Susan's progress as she walks away.

When he returns his gaze to her, he has the good grace to look guilty. "Jim," she says dryly, "much as I'm tempted to save you from yourself, go ahead. You might as well -- you're sure as hell not getting any from me tonight."

Jim pouts, deep and exaggerated. "Why not?" he asks indignantly. "You're here and everything!"

"Personal rule, sorry. I don't sleep with drunk guys."

"That's --you're no fun at all."

"No," she says with careful patience, " _you're_ not going to be any fun. You are past the point of being able to make it worth my while, Jim. I'd be shocked if you could make it worth _your_ while -- but I'll leave it to someone else to find out."

He squints at her. "You don't care?"

Christine fixes her attention on her hands, on mixing her drink. "We said casual, right?" she says steadily.

Jim doesn't respond for a long moment. "Can I at least have a kiss?"

With a deep breath, Christine turns to him and pastes on a smile as she leans in to kiss him quickly. "Really, go have fun. I don't think I'm staying long anyway. This isn't exactly my scene."

He steals another kiss, strokes her cheek as he draws away. "I'm still coming to see you tomorrow."

"Sure. Do that. I'll see you then."

Jim hesitates, but wanders off at last, and Christine finishes mixing something drinkable. Part of her wants to go hunt him down, to tell him she made a mistake. She doesn't even know what point she's trying to make, anyway, only that she's not particularly happy about having agreed to a date _or_ having shooed him off to find someone who --

Who he'll offer sly smiles and teasing words, and breathless kisses and laughs and fumbling touches. Who he'll fuck, and who will probably find herself caught up and drawn in despite herself, despite her best intentions.

Who... won't be her. Christine downs her entire drink in three fast gulps and makes another.

She winds up, somehow, curled up in the corner of a sofa in the crowded living room, hugging her legs to her chest and watching people blankly, until someone stops directly in front of her. She looks up to see McCoy frowning down at her. "Hey," he says gruffly, and drops onto the sofa next to her, about a foot away. "Jim said you weren't coming."

Resting her cheek on her knees, she gazes at him. "I wasn't going to. My roommate said she'd shave my head if I stayed in all night. That's so _mean_."

"Making you go out, or shaving your head?"

"Both," she says emphatically. She touches her hair absently, as if to ensure it's all still there.

McCoy eyes her thoughtfully. "I don't know, I bet you'd look cute bald."

Christine frowns. She can't get her mind to chase down what he means-- that she'd look cute no matter what? That anything would be an improvement? It's so tiresome, the way he confuses her. She sighs and lets her feet slip off the edge of the couch and thump to the floor. "I'd look like a potato," she says crossly, folding her arms over her chest.

He coughs, a poor disguise for the laugh that erupts. "A potato."

"Yes, a potato. Lumpy and lopsided." She sighs again. "My chin is so _pointy_."

He doesn't even bother trying this time, just chuckles openly. "Hell, Christine, your chin is _not_ pointy."

"Hey." She blinks at him, wiggles in her seat to sit up straight. "You don't call me Christine."

He raises his eyebrow and shrugs. "I don't really see you outside work."

"Oh." Considering that, she chews on her lower lip. "I guess that'll change when I go out with Jim." McCoy's expression darkens and his jaw clenches; she just barely notices. There's a tiny, tiny part of her mind still clear enough to feel outright horror at the way her mental filter has gone on hiatus, at the way she just _cannot_ shut up. "I already told him I would, anyway, so it's not like it really has anything to do with you. Right?"

McCoy scowls at her. "What the hell would you dating Jim have to do with me?"

She is _never_ drinking again. "Nothing," she mumbles. Understanding of just what she's said, what she's admitted, settles slowly on her and makes her stomach churn. "I feel sick," she blurts.

"Up," he says immediately, and helps her to her feet. He guides her, stumbling, through the house to the bathroom, where he pounds on the door until some guy hurries out, still buckling his belt. McCoy pushes her in and she sinks down on the floor next to the bathtub, slumps with her cheek pressed to the cold porcelain as he crouches next to her. "Relax and breathe," he says quietly. His hand settles between her shoulder blades and rubs slow circles. "Let whatever happens, happen."

"I'm okay," she says miserably. "I'm not-- I didn't even drink that much."

"Could have fooled me."

She raises her head and glares at him. "I didn't. God, you're such a--"

"Such a _what_?"

"Never mind," she mumbles. She sits back against the wall and hugs her knees, rests her forehead in one hand. "You don't have to do this."

"And 'this' would be..."

"Nice. You don't have to be nice." She closes her eyes; it's easier to face the completely invisible truth that way. "I know you don't like me."

"I don't -- don't be stupid, I -- I like you just fine."

"Oh, please." Annoyed, she scrambles to her feet and pushes past him. "I'm not blind, McCoy, and you usually suck at faking basic civility. Or, you know, any tolerance at all for Jim making his own damn decisions --"

"Wait just a goddamn second, Chapel," he snaps, and grabs her arm.

She spins around and pushes up on her toes and kisses him.

It's clumsy as kisses go, just a bleak, frozen moment of her lips pressed to his. She doesn't know what she wants, exactly, doesn't know precisely what reaction she's expecting or looking for. What she gets, though, is pretty clear.

Absolutely nothing.

"Right," she whispers, and manages to make it into the hallway on her next attempt.

He follows her, catches her arm again. "Oh, no you don't. What the hell was that?"

She yanks her arm away and considers, for a brief, satisfying moment, punching him just to let loose some of the anger and frustration and confusion building up over everything. "I don't have to explain myself to you. Leave me alone."

"Not a chance in hell. Jesus Christ, do you have _any_ idea how much Jim likes you?" He shakes his head, disgust etched into his features. "I may hate the very thought of it but Jim _does_ make his own damn decisions, and hell if I've ever seen him so gone over anyone. He doesn't know up from down around you, Chapel, and you're playing games behind his back?"

Screw it, she thinks furiously, and pain explodes in her hand as her fist connects with his jaw. "Jim," she hisses, "is outside trying to score with some redhead he knows, and if you think he's gone over _me_ you are the blindest -- oh, forget it."

McCoy stares at her, one hand coming up to gingerly touch his face. "He's-- and you're just gonna-- damn it, you're both dumber than bricks."

"What we are is none of your fucking business," Christine hisses. She cradles her hand to her belly and looks at him through a blur of tears. "Your stupid face broke my hand," she adds accusingly.

"Let me see," he says immediately. When she doesn't move he grabs her forearm and pulls gently, but lets her go when his first effort at moving her fingers makes her suck in a pained gasp. "Come on. I can take care of it in the clinic."

"I can go myself."

"Chapel, you're drunk and injured and acting like a fool. Wise up and listen to me for once, would you?" He tips his head, waits until she sighs and heads for the front door, then follows close behind her.

On the short walk to the clinic, tears continue to prick her eyes. She tells herself it's because of the pain flashing from her hand all the way up her arm. She tells herself it has nothing -- _nothing_ \-- to do with anything else. She doesn't talk to McCoy, doesn't look at him, keeps a careful distance from him as they walk.

Hernandez is covering the front desk when they arrive. She stands at the sight of them, though McCoy waves her off; Christine doesn't miss the telling flash of an expression on her face, the way she looks at him.

She sort of feels like throwing another punch, right about then. Instead she just grits her teeth and glares at the floor. "Chapel banged her hand up," McCoy says, steering her towards the back. "No big deal, we'll just be a few minutes and then get out of your hair."

"Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything?"

"'Let me know if you need anything'," Christine mumbles under her breath, in the back hall. "Obvious much?"

"What are you on about now?"

"Nothing," she snaps as he pushes her into an exam room and gestures impatiently for her to sit while he gathers everything he needs. "Have you slept with her yet?"

"Have I --" He stops short, a scanner poised over her hand. "Joy's a *friend*, Chapel." He sighs and resumes working. "I don't get you."

"I'm not that difficult. Jim doesn't have much problem with me."

"I've noticed," he snaps. "But then, Jim excels in anything that makes no damn sense at all."

Christine bites her lip to keep from replying, choosing instead to watch him work. Only when the silence becomes too much to bear does she say softly, "I'm not going to hurt him, if that's what you think." She stares at his fingers, the way they wrap around the osteogenic stimulator and keep it steady for each pass across her knuckles. "I would never want to-- He listens to me. He doesn't want me to be different."

McCoy shakes his head absently. "So at least he's not a fool on that count. Good to know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He lifts his eyes and gazes at her intently. "That means there's not a damn thing you should change about yourself, especially for some guy. If you did I might have to punch you right back."

Christine stares at him. She swallows hard. "You don't mean that."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, you know I'd never--"

" _No_ , the-- the other part."

He sets the stimulator down and cradles her wrist in one hand, manipulates her fingers one by one with the other. She wants to think he's watching her so closely so he won't miss any hint of pain, but she's not blind and that's not what's lurking in his expression. His thumb passes slowly over the mended skin over her knuckles. It's still sensitive and sends a shock of sensation up her arm. "I do mean it," he says quietly. "Christine... I like you, all right? It's that simple."

"Stop it," she snaps, and pulls her hand back. She doesn't --she can't believe this. She can't _let_ herself believe the suspicion lurking in the back of her mind. "I fucking _hit_ you. I think it's socially acceptable to tell me the truth now."

"Are you seriously still stuck on that?"

Christine stands up and edges around him. "Yes, I guess I am. And you know, honestly, I'd rather think you hate me. I'd really, really rather think that you're full of shit and still can't stand me than that you're the kind of asshole who's only interested now that I'm sleeping with your best friend. Whether Jim deserves better than me is open to debate, but he for damn sure deserves better than _that_. That clear enough for you?"

"Still can't..." he echoes flatly, his expression going grave. "I've *always* liked you, Chapel. Christ, how fucking stupid _are_ you?"

For a moment, she almost believes him. "Pretty damn," she admits, when she realizes what she's thinking. She turns away before she can betray herself even further by letting him see the tears springing to her eyes. "I must be."

"Why?"

She swipes angrily at her cheeks. "Because...whatever, it doesn't even matter. I'll put in for a shift change for next semester, keep out of your way. Good night."

The loud, sudden clatter of the stimulator hitting the far wall makes her flinch and freeze. "I'm not like Jim," he snaps behind her.

Christine turns slowly back to him, wishes he would start making _sense_ for once. "What do you mean?" she asks, for what feels like the tenth time.

"You figure it out," he says snidely. He brushes past her. "But like you said, it doesn't matter anyway."

~*~*~*~*~*~

He's gone by the time she gathers enough courage to leave the exam room. Christine shuffles past Hernandez without a word and goes to her dorm, where she curls up in bed and falls into a fitful sleep.

She reports for the morning shift with a cottony tongue and a profound relief that McCoy has the day off. She _wants_ to be similarly relieved when noon rolls around and Jim still hasn't shown his face, but she can't quite muster it up.

Not when he's probably still sleeping off a hangover -- in someone else's bed. The thought makes her uneasy for multiple reasons, none of which she's comfortable examining too closely. The relatively busy pace of the day lets her stay distracted, and if she's guilt-inducingly grateful for the steady influx of routine weekend recreational injuries, she's at least also grateful that they're all fairly minor.

She's not -- quite -- to the point of wishing for catastrophe just to keep her mind off the disaster her life has become. That has to count for something, she figures.

Her luck runs out late in the afternoon; she emerges from the back to take over the front desk for awhile and finds Jim sprawled in a chair in the waiting room, tapping one foot idly. "Are you hurt?" she asks as she sits down, half-praying for any excuse at all to foist him quickly onto a doctor.

He hops up and approaches the desk, leans over it on his forearms. "Nope. Just taking you up on your invitation. Meant to come earlier but time got away from me."

"It's fine, I've been -- I'm still pretty tied up with stuff." Christine licks her lips nervously as she becomes certain he hasn't talked to McCoy yet. "It's amazing, despite being a collection of brilliant people, cadets manage the absolute stupidest things sometimes."

"Why do I suspect I resemble that remark?" Jim asks, a glint of pride lurking in his smile.

"I can't imagine," Christine deadpans. She looks away from his face, unsettled by what his good humor does to her, by how *attractive* she's come to find it. "Anyway. I'm kind of --"

"Where'd you go last night?" Jim cuts in. "I was looking for you."

"You weren't...busy?"

"Nah," he says breezily. "Susan? Nothing happened."

Christine swallows hard. "That's-- that's a shame. Sorry it didn't work --"

"Yeah, funny thing," Jim interrupts. "You saw her, right? Totally gorgeous, nice as anything, knows all the best filthy slang in like, six different alien languages --"

"And hot for you."

" _Definitely_ hot for me, has been all year. But you know what? I'm talking to her, waiting for right time to move in, and I realize I've probably missed about a dozen opportunities already. Which is just *weird*, Chris, I do _not_ miss opportunities. I am an opportunity _magnet_."

Christine can't help but wonder which mistake, exactly, of all the dozens she's made with him, is responsible for him thinking she wants to hear about his trials and tribulations in hitting on another woman. "Is there a point you're trying to get to?" she demands crankily.

"Sure. I was like, what the hell, you know? Until I figured out I'd been too busy wondering if you meant you don't sleep with drunk guys at _all_ or if there was any chance you'd at least let me crash with you for the night."

She blinks at him, certain she's missing something. "Why, is something wrong with your room?"

"Only when you're not in it," he says with a cheeky smile.

Christine cringes at the easiness of his affection. "Don't."

"I'm just saying --"

"Jim, I mean it." She gazes at him and wishes he _had_ slept with Susan, or that his failure to had been for any other reason in the world, some idiotic move that made her blow him off or someone else swooping in and snatching away her affections. She wishes he were giving her anything -- _anything_ \-- that could add some balance to the teetering chaos of her feelings, and his, and the shifting rules of this game between them. "Listen, last night... never mind. I had a really bad night and I'm tired and this-- this isn't a good time."

Jim's expression loses all traces of humor as he watches her with concern. "Hey, what happened? Why was it so bad?"

She ducks her head and blinks back a sudden spring of tears. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Jim says slowly, dragging the word out. "But... you know you _can_ talk to me, right? I'm actually really good at listening, ask Bones. Surprised the _shit_ out of him. Or so he says. I think he just likes to pretend --"

"Jim," she snaps. She doesn't -- _can't_ look up at him. "I'm working. I can't really deal with you right now, all right?"

Jim's silence stretches unbearably long. He taps one finger on the counter. "No," he says at last, and sounds more than a little annoyed. "We're way past having fun with the cat and mouse bullshit, Chris. What's wrong?"

Christine jabs angrily at her console to log off and swipes under her eyes to catch the beads of moisture that have managed to spill free. "Ask McCoy. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to fill you in. Just don't be surprised if he tells you I'm a crazy bitch and you'd be well-shed of me." She grabs her PADD and backs away behind the desk. "I really do have to work. Let me know if we're still on for Monday after-- it's fine if we're not."

"Christine. Aw, come on! Come back, just --"

She makes very sure that the security locks engage behind her as she escapes to the back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Christine goes straight home after work, locks herself away with research notes, coffee, and food that's been preserved to within an inch of edibility. She ignores her comm, as well as the chime at her door early on Sunday afternoon.

On Monday she goes to class. It is, she tells herself firmly, just another day. Business as usual.

When she gets out of her xenobiology lab at noon, she finally checks her messages. There are four from Jim, the first and second being slight variations on the theme of "Chris, seriously, this is dumb! Talk to me, would you?" On the third, he just sighs and says, "I'm coming over."

Fat lot of good that did him, she thinks, and accesses the last message. He left it that morning, just before her lab started. "I talked to Bones," he says evenly. She can't tell a damn thing from the sound of his voice. "Come over when you get this, would you? Five minutes and then I'll leave you alone. Just...give me five minutes. I know it's kind of an asshole move to say this, but I think you owe me at least much."

She sits on a bench in the student union and stares off into space for a good fifteen minutes before getting up and walking slowly towards Jim's dorm. It takes her another solid few, standing in his hallway, before she can bring herself to press the chime. In the end she figures she has to get it over with sooner or later; she has to face what he meant by that cool "I'll leave you alone."

She touches her finger reluctantly to the button.

Somehow it's the next ten seconds or so that are the longest of her life. Then the door slides open and there's Jim, carelessly sans shirt, his hair ruffled messily and his mouth swollen and wet. There's no misinterpreting how he looks; she's seen him like this too many times.

She's taken him apart like this herself, too many times.

Christine takes it all in and bites her lip, tries to squash down her disappointment. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I thought you wanted me to... I must have misunderstood. Give me a call later, I guess. Whenever you're not... busy."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He grabs her by the back of her uniform as she turns to go and reels her, stumbling backwards, into the entry foyer. "Hold on, I'm glad you're here."

"Jim," she tries, as he engages the security lock. "Jim, come on, this can wait, I just want to--"

"I've _been_ waiting." He wraps his arms around her and starts walking her into his bedroom. "So listen. Something kind of important happened."

"Jim, it's fine, I get it -- I knew this would happen, I mean-- god, let me _go_ , would you?"

"You heard the woman."

Christine goes cold at the sound of McCoy's quiet drawl.

She twists around in Jim's grasp and somehow musters up the nerve to look up. McCoy is sitting on the edge of Jim's bed, leaning back on his hands. His shirt is missing, too, the button of his jeans popped open. There are blotchy red marks scattered over his chest and neck. "Christine," he greets her calmly.

It's okay, Christine tries telling herself, even as she swallows around a painful lump in her throat. Idle, confused thoughts aside, she's never kidded herself about what she had going with Jim, and she's _stopped_ kidding herself about what she'd longed to have with McCoy. Neither of them owe her anything. This is not, she thinks, the worst thing that's ever happened to her.

It just sort of feels like it is. "Oh," she says stupidly. "I--I see."

Jim chuckles next to her ear and tightens his arms in a quick squeeze. She cringes, for all the good it does. "Isn't it great?" he says lightly.

Christine sags in his arms and closes her eyes. She can handle a measure of cruelty from McCoy, after everything, but she can't figure out what she did to warrant it from Jim. "Stop," she says desperately. "Please let me go."

"Let her go, Jim." McCoy's voice is firm and Jim's hold slowly loosens around her. She sucks in a deep, relieved breath and jerks away, wraps her own arms protectively around herself. "So, Christine. Jim and I were just having a _real_ damn interesting conversation."

"Right!" It comes out a cross between a laugh and a sob, a sharp, hysterical sound. "Looks like it's absolutely fascinating. I'll just leave you to it."

"Not so fast. Jim asked for five minutes. I assume you're here because you intended to give it to him."

"To him," she snaps. "Not to you, not to -- to this."

McCoy lifts an eyebrow, interest and speculation and amusement warring on his face. "You don't even know what 'this' is."

"I'm pretty sure I know exactly what this is." He has, she realizes at the back of her mind, a remarkable ability to provoke fury in her faster than anyone she's ever known. "And whose idea it was to drag me into it -- if you wanted to hurt me you could have just hit me back, you --"

"Dude, she hit you? _That's_ how she hurt her hand?" Christine glances and sees a startled half-grin on Jim's face. He wipes it right off at the look on her face. "Uh. He didn't tell me that detail."

"She's got a nasty right hook," McCoy says evenly. "Wanna focus a little here, Jim?"

"He doesn't need to focus." She's starting to feel, genuinely, like she's going to go crazy if she stays there any longer. "I don't want him to fucking focus, all right?"

"Fine." For all that it's firm, there's a new gentleness to McCoy's tone. "Then let's just get to the point of why you're here. What _do_ you want?"

Jim watches her, anxiety in his eyes. "Chris?"

"Nothing, I don't want anything," she gets out. She hasn't felt this dizzy with panic since the first battle simulation she had to get through. "Except for you to _move_ , Jim, really, I'm happy for you both, I just need to get going, I have a-a thing, I need to get to it, it's important and I--"

"Okay," McCoy cuts in. "Okay, okay. You're going. Just one thing first." Standing in a smooth movement, he pads over to her on bare feet and stops close, too close. "We are damn well doing this right, at least once," he says quietly.

He palms her cheeks and leans in and kisses her full on the mouth.

Christine shudders but holds still. McCoy's lips move against hers, capture and drag her lower lip out slightly as he draws back. He drops his hands to her arms and slowly, carefully pries them from their defensive clutch to guide them around his waist. She doesn't move her hands from where they settle, just above his hips, but she also doesn't pull them away. His skin is warm and dry to the touch. "What are you doing?" she whispers. She can't meet his eyes and stares at his chest instead. "McCoy--"

"We're not at work, Christine," he mutters, and tugs her abruptly against him. "And I'm trying to get it through your thick skull once and for all that I want you." He glances in Jim's direction. "That we both do. _That's_ what this is."

She looks at Jim, too. He shrugs sheepishly. "We were talking for a _really_ long time," he offers. "We were waiting for you, but..."

"But you've got the patience of a hyperactive child?" McCoy says, not without sincere affection. He brushes hair from Christine's forehead. "He jumped me, I swear."

"I don't understand." She realizes her hands are moving curiously across the smooth, toned skin of McCoy's back and she forces herself to stop. "This doesn't make sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Jim puts in. "I want him, he wants me. _You_ want him, he wants you. You want me, I want you...and here we all are." He squints at her, frowns. "You do want me, right? You said you liked me."

"Jim." She laughs because...because there's nothing else to do, it seems. "Jim, of _course_ I do, are you crazy? I have no idea how you managed it, but--"

"Word of advice?" McCoy interrupts. "Don't even try to figure it out. It's hopeless. He just _does_ it."

Christine lifts her eyes to meet his, lets herself see the warmth in his gaze. She risks a small smile that makes his mouth quirk in response. "Drive you crazy, too?"

"What, him weaseling in despite your best efforts?" He ducks his head to kiss her again, slowly, cautiously. "Hell, yes."

"Uh, hello?" Jim gripes. "Right here, guys."

"That's nice," McCoy mutters. His arms tighten around her. "We're...over here."

Jim laughs.

Christine forces herself to relax, slips her arms up to wrap around McCoy's neck as she loses herself in the heat of his mouth on hers. She barely even notices that he's slowly moving her, just shuffles her feet along according to the leading press of his body until she bumps into Jim, who slips his hands between her and McCoy to fumble with the buttons of her uniform jacket. When he tugs at it, she untangles her arms enough to let him peel it off and leave her in the skimpy tank she wears as an undershirt. A part of her realizes that this is crazy, that they need to _talk_ about this, but every thought she has in that direction seems to get cut off at the pass by distraction brought on by Jim's hands, by McCoy's lips and tongue, by the the warm crush of both their bodies.

"You should be comfortable and stay awhile," Jim says, lifting her hair away and mouthing one side of her neck as McCoy keeps kissing her. She gasps and digs her fingers into McCoy's back, arches her own. "And the two of you should make sure you understand each other while I'm gone."

Christine tears her mouth away from McCoy's and frowns at Jim as he moves away. McCoy just latches onto her neck with a muffled grumble. "While you're -- wait, what? What are you doing?"

"I have class," Jim says mournfully. He gathers his uniform and shucks out of his jeans. "It got late. You took _forever_ getting here."

"I had my own damn class. You should know that, stalker."

"I did sort of stalk you, huh?" He sounds a little proud, admitting that.

Christine twists free of McCoy's grasp and crosses the room to Jim, presses her palms to his chest before he can tug his undershirt on. "Skip it," she suggests, pushing onto her toes to kiss him shallowly. His mouth is not the intriguing new mystery that McCoy's is; it's familiar and accepting and pliant as he responds readily, and she feels about ready to crawl out of her skin from sheer desire. She slides one hand down to cup his erection. "Stay here."

"Ahh...fuck. _Fuck_. I can't." He grimaces, rocks into her hand. "Exam's only optional with perfect attendance. I really do _not_ need any more tests to take this semester."

Christine starts trying to unfasten his uniform pants. "Then be late."

"As far as Commander Heelik is concerned," Jim whines, swatting her hands away, "'late' and 'absent' are synonyms."

She sighs. "Okay." She lets him go and starts to reach for her own uniform jacket, but Jim pulls her back. "What are you--"

"I told you, you should stay," he says quietly, in her ear. "I'll be back in less than two hours, and I know for a _fact_ you can drive a man crazy for at least that long."

She glances at McCoy. He's watching them with a curious frown. "You want..."

Jim kisses her, long and deep. "I want you to have what you want," he whispers when he's done. Christine bites her lip and tries to figure out why his words are unsettling, more than anything else. He tips her head back with gentle hands, blithely kisses along her jaw. "I'm gonna get through class thinking about coming back and watching you together." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, shudders. "Unless you'd rather watch the two of us, first."

"Oh my god," she moans softly. "Jim."

"What the hell are the two of you plotting over there?" McCoy grumbles, not without good humor. "You're scaring me a little."

"Oh, be afraid." Jim laughs and pushes Christine back towards him. "I'll be back soon. Bones, keep her occupied. She's trouble when she thinks too much."

"Don't I know it," McCoy growls lightly, and wraps his arms around her. She leans back against him, warm and secure, his breath against her neck. "Jim--"

Jim waves him off as he finishes dressing. "Listen, I'm sort of figuring on having a _lot_ of sex when I get back. Do me a favor and use this time to figure out all your stupid crap." He grins suddenly. "Or you could get her off as many times as possible. Your call."

"I like the sound of option B, personally." McCoy's voice, a purr next to her ear, makes her shiver. "Don't move. Jim, a word?"

"Sure, just let me -- okay." Jim sifts quickly through several PADDs on his desk and selects one. "Make it quick, I really gotta go."

Christine sits down slowly on Jim's bed as McCoy lets her go and pulls Jim out the door by his elbow. From her viewpoint she can only see McCoy in profile, standing with his arms folded except when he flings one hand out to gesture along with whatever he's saying, quietly, emphatically. At one point he glances in at her, his expression worried, but then his attention is caught by Jim stepping into sight and pulling him into a kiss. McCoy's hands fall to his side, falter a little before coming up to rest on Jim's back, to draw him in closer.

She looks away after a second. It just feels like something she has no right to see. Her attention fixed determinedly on the floor, she doesn't look up until she hears the slide of the door as Jim leaves. McCoy is paused in the entry, watching her, and she stares right back until he caves and shuffles over to sit at Jim's desk. "So," he says. "You're completely freaked out, I take it."

"Maybe just a little," she admits with a nervous smile. She twists her hands together in her lap. "I guess this all means Jim told you."

McCoy raises an eyebrow. "Told me what? About you, or him?"

"Well, I meant him."

"Ah. No, actually. More like I told him." She frowns uncertainly and he shrugs, looks away. "I showed up for breakfast, wound up getting an earful about how he was pretty damn sure I'd made you cry."

Heat floods her cheeks. "Oh, no. He didn't."

"Oh, yeah. I told him -- more or less -- what happened, tried to make it sound like nothing but a stupid misunderstanding, and suddenly he was going on for ages about just how badly I was blowing my chances. So he told me about _you_ , I guess." He grimaces ruefully. "Not that I wasn't already painfully aware of my own monumental screw-ups on that front."

"Oh _god_ ," she says. She flops onto her back and grabs the edge of Jim's comforter to haul it over her body, peeks just her face out. "He wasn't supposed to _do_ that."

"He's _Jim_. When does he ever-- Anyway, that didn't go over too well with me."

"I can't imagine it would. You're... _you_."

"Yeah. Well." He smiles slightly in acknowledgment of that. "Long story short, I wound up asking him what the hell I was _supposed_ to do when I couldn't even figure out who the fuck I was more jealous of, between the two of you."

Christine processes that slowly and sits up, stares at him. "Seriously?"

McCoy sighs and leans forward, rubs his eyes briefly. "You know, that's exactly what he said. Look, it's a big mess, but Jim and I -- we're both idiots, is the thing, both of us too damn worried about screwing up our friendship to deal with what was in front of us."

The strange, unsettled feeling she'd had with Jim twists again in Christine's stomach, makes her feel queasy. "I shouldn't be here, should I?" she asks softly. "You guys...you're sparing me."

"Would you shut up and listen?" he snaps irritably. "I got used to dealing with Jim doing his thing with...with whoever. It seemed best that way. And then I met you and it was nice to feel my own distraction for once. But then _Jim_ met you before I figured out what to do about it. I thought he'd lay off after awhile, but he just wouldn't _stop_ , and -- I asked him once, what the hell he was doing with you."

She waits. It's impossible, she finds, to look away from his face. "He said he was doing a crappy job of trying not to fall in love."

"He - when did he say that?"

"Day after you guys had sex in the clinic."

Horror floods her. "He _told_ you about that?"

"He asked me some highly unsubtle questions about whether we record security footage inside the exam rooms. Seemed _real_ relieved to hear those systems only activate when a patient is assigned to the room." McCoy arches an eyebrow and frowns. "It wasn't exactly hard to figure out."

Christine stares down at her hands for a minute, trying to think. Finally she reaches and snags her jacket from the end of the bed, pulls it on before standing to button it neatly. "I need to go," she says, her fingers clumsy in their movements. "I don't think I can do this. I can't... I can't."

"Christine. What's wrong?"

"Everything." She tries to remember if she'd brought anything with her, then gives up and heads for the door. "Everything about this is wrong, it's -- I'm sorry. Tell Jim that, too, would you?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

She holes up in the library this time, going so far as to sleep slumped over a carrel desk hidden deep in the stacks rather than risk going home to be ambushed by Jim. When she wakes up with a crick in her neck and saliva still slick and wet along her cheek and arm, she can't decide if she just knows him too well or has gotten _way_ too paranoid.

There is, at least, no sign of him when she stops by her room to shower and change. On the other hand, he's left her eleven messages.

She deletes them all without listening and goes to class. Her wary jumpiness lingers; she keeps expecting Jim to be waiting outside her classes, or lurking around the next corner, and it only gets worse the longer she goes without seeing the slightest sign of him.

In the end it's McCoy who catches her unawares, without even trying. She goes in for a short afternoon shift and walks into the break room to find him there, sipping coffee and talking to Hernandez. "Shit, you're still here?" Christine blurts before she can stop herself.

He looks up at her, but doesn't move from his comfortable sprawl in his chair. Hernandez glances back and forth between them and stands up. "I'll take over up front," she says carefully, and edges around Christine. "I'll call if anyone comes in."

Christine glares at McCoy as Hernandez leaves. "Why do I get the feeling she's trying to give us time to talk?"

"Because she is?" he suggests mildly. "I told you, Joy's become a good friend."

"You told her about --"

"I didn't tell her anything," he cuts in, rolling his eyes. "All she knows is I've been spinning my wheels for weeks on what to do about you. But she's not _blind_ , Christine. I'm grumpier than usual and you don't generally greet people with obscenities. Can't be that tough to suss out that something happened."

"Nothing happened," Christine says firmly. She squeezes one hand into a tight fist behind her back, digs her nails into the flesh of her palm and focuses on that pain. "And nothing is going to happen. I've given this a lot of thought, and I think it would be best if you and Jim just -- just left me out of this." She feels blood under her fingertips. "He's all yours, okay. I don't know what I was thinking getting mixed up with him in the first place, I never wanted that. And I don't want -- I want to graduate and get my assignment and get on with life, and that's -- that's what I'm going to do."

McCoy stares at her. "Alone," he says flatly.

" _Yes_."

"hm. Well, good luck with that." He gets up and starts rinsing his coffee mug as she blinks, astonished. "Let me know how it goes. I tried the same thing, you know."

Christine swallows hard. "And then you met Jim?" she whispers.

"And then I met Jim," he agrees. "I suspect you're made of sterner stuff than I am, though. It'll at least be interesting to see if you fare any better than I did once Jim really gets going."

"Once he -- what's he going to do?"

"Can't say for sure. Jim, in his infinite maturity, is giving me the silent treatment," McCoy replies. "He's convinced I either chased you off on purpose, or did something too stupid to forgive. Either way, I'm in the doghouse and not privy to whatever scheming he's doing."

"But he was supposed to -- _you_ were supposed to.... He's cared about you so much longer, and you said, I thought --"

"What, that you were gonna let me call dibs? Let him? What, did you miss the part where neither of us _wanted_ to?" She stares at him, stricken, and he shakes his head firmly. "Jesus, you did. Right, well."

Christine finds she can't move, can't look away. "That's -- that's it?"

He shrugs and leaves the break room before turning back. "I already told you, Christine, I'm not like Jim. Don't expect the same things from us."

"I -- I don't," she gets out, just barely.

He just scowls slightly and shakes his head. "Then why do you look like I just kicked your puppy by taking you at your word and not pushing something you say you don't want?" He sighs. "I'll say this, all right, and that's it: if you had a lot thrown at you and panicked, that's fine. If it's really not what you want, _that's_ fine. But if you think you're doing anyone some favor by bowing out? Still fine, but you're an idiot and you shouldn't look for sympathy from this corner."

She has absolutely nothing to say to that.

"I'm off," he says after lengthy pause. "Have a nice shift, Chapel."

Christine stays frozen on the spot for a long minute after he's gone, her mind whirling. She thinks about him, about the flare of pure physical attraction she'd felt at first meeting him and everything that followed as she grew familiar with his intelligence and his work, his sharp demeanor and the flashes of humor and compassion that always struck her as all the sweeter, and more enjoyable, since he kept such tight rein on them.

She thinks about Jim and his steady campaign to win her over, and every time he's made her laugh, and how he'd implied he'd rather sleep at her side than have sex with someone else.

She understands, clearly, for the first time, that she's throwing away more than she'd realized. She trudges out to the front desk in a daze, still too stunned to even contemplate what to do.

Hernandez just looks at her appraisingly. "Go," she says firmly.

"What?"

"Go," she repeats. "Whatever it is you need to go after him for, just go. We're overstaffed today, anyway. Go -- I don't know. Yell at him. Spit on him. Kiss him. Whatever, just get out of my face with that ridiculous expression."

"What expression?"

"The one that tells me you just made a gigantic mistake and you know it. So whatever it is you guys just talked about back there, you need to go catch him and say the opposite. Go."

Christine stares at her blankly for a long second. "What has he told you about me?"

Hernandez sighs. "More than I think he thought he was. He's in love with you, Christine. Please go do _something_ about it one way or the other."

Christine turns on her heel and bolts out the door. McCoy is still in sight, far across the quad, and she runs after him. "McCoy!" she calls.

He stops, turns around, waits for her to catch up. She skids to a halt in front of him and pauses to catch her breath. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" she demands. "If you were-- why didn't you _say_ something?"

McCoy frowns at her. "Leaving Jim out of it? You're the first woman I so much as looked twice at since my marriage went up in flames. I was _confused_ , Christine. It happens to the rest of us, too, you know."

"What, you mean I don't have a monopoly on that?" She laughs weakly. "Jim doesn't seem to have that problem."

"No," he agrees. "Jim doesn't get confused. He just gets obstinate."

Christine bites her lip, then takes a deep breath. "So now -- now if I said I wanted you, you _and_ Jim -- if I said that, what would you do?"

His eyes darken, but caution enters his expression. "Are you saying that?"

"I asked first."

"Speaking of obstinate," he says quietly, almost to himself. Something about his tone makes it come across as a compliment, as maybe the sincerest one she's ever gotten. "Fine. I'd tell you I'm on my way to try and get Jim to talk to me again. Feel like coming along, giving me a snowball's chance in hell?"

Christine gazes at him, takes another deep breath. She smiles slowly. "Yes." She reaches and takes his hand, tangles their fingers together. "Let's go tell Jim he wins."

McCoy squeezes her hand tightly as they fall into step together. "Like it'll come as any surprise to him," he grumbles. "Hadn't you noticed yet? Jim always wins."


End file.
